Lullaby
by Blaze6
Summary: It had been foggy in San Francisco. G/S


Title: Lullaby  
  
Author: Blaze  
  
Summary: It had been foggy in San Francisco  
  
Rating: PG, and there may be a teeny spoiler for Primum, but that's about it.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words surrounding those words/characters/locations/places of business that are copyrighted and/or familiar in any way.  
  
A/N's: I don't really have anything to say, except this did not start out being what it became. Aside from that, the Wise One must be thanked for, well, being wise and rocking so hard it must hurt. Thank you, oh Wise One. Heh. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
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She fell asleep somewhere around Bakersfield, the hum of rolling tires and  
the hypnotic passing of asphalt and scenery proving to be more lulling than  
a lullaby, leaving him alone with "Non-stop new country, twelve in a row!"  
and cows. Lots of cows.  
  
It was hot, the air conditioning was on High and still his skin tingled with  
every oppressive ray beating down on the car. In heat like this, most   
animals had the sense to stop, to sleep, to be rational and conserve energy  
and fluids, like Sara was. In heat like this, bodies swelled, rotted,   
festered. Burst.  
  
He reached over and adjusted her vent, aiming the crisp air at her still form.  
  
"Here's a back-to-back set from the one 'n' only-" The California drawl   
snapped into non-existence with a quick punch to the power button. He'd   
take the sound of air conditioning and her steady breathing over music any day.  
  
A minute sigh passed her lips, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her   
shift, turning against the seatbelt and towards the window, drawing her legs  
tighter into the seat. Her back was as much to him as the restraint allowed,  
a now unnecessary sweatshirt serving as a barrier between the window and   
her precious mind.  
  
It had been foggy in San Francisco. She'd missed the fog all those months  
in Vegas, missed it more than she would ever say, but her wistfully pleased  
expression yesterday as she'd huddled against the cold on Ocean Beach had  
given her away. Short sleeves had been no match for the damp chill, but she  
had refused to wear the black hooded sweatshirt she was now using as a pillow,  
saying that the experience was like a crime scene-missing any of it would be  
tantamount to ignoring a smoking gun. So he stood back stoically, hands deep  
in the pockets of his jacket, and watched her watch the tide come in.  
  
If he closed his eyes for an instant, the content grin she'd tossed him as she  
turned to the parking lot and her quiet "Thank you" came crashing back,  
burning a space in his chest he could not and did not want to get rid of.   
And when he opened his eyes and saw her trusting him so completely...  
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as a small smile cracked   
his impassive façade.  
  
She trusted him.  
  
Somewhere in his mind, he knew she always had, but he liked to forget.   
If he could forget, he could have these earnest moments of remembrance he  
relished beyond reason.  
  
He extended his right arm protectively as he braked into the prescribed road  
construction speed limit of 55, passing men in bright orange vests and hard   
hats repaving the left lane, the acrid scent of hot asphalt burning his  
nostrils. Both the slowdown and the smell failed to make her stir; she was   
truly enrobed in sleep, not surprising considering the late hours they'd been   
keeping on this case. The last orange cone disappeared from his rearview   
mirror as the speedometer crept closer to seventy and the case he was trying  
so fervently to leave behind crept up on him.  
  
The serial duo of rape and murder had been all they'd thought about in the   
last few weeks; the case becoming one step past an obsession for both of   
them as they consumed it, to the point where they could no longer look in each  
other's eyes for the fear that the other would see the evil inside, to the   
point where every moment they were alone was racked by silence, Sara   
afraid to speak, Grissom afraid to listen.  
  
And when it became clear there was nothing more for them to do, that it was   
time to go home, regardless of how they'd transformed, he'd followed her to   
the beach, where the fog and the waves had washed away their moral grime,   
made them functional again, turned them back to themselves again.  
  
The gas gauge indicated that the tank was nearing empty. Good, he needed a   
break, a drink, a walk. Something to erase the road from his mind.  
  
  
  
Car wasn't moving anymore. Why? She cracked an eyelid open, the   
photoreceptors in her retinas were saturated with bright light, and for a   
second, she couldn't see anything but white-like snow blindness only worse.  
Her eyes shut, then opened again. She squinted against the sun, turning   
away from the window, stretching her way into a seated position.  
  
Grissom was gone.  
  
The car was stopped, engine off, getting warmer by the instant, there was   
a strange sweet smell in the air, and Grissom was gone. Where the hell was  
he? More importantly, where the hell was she?  
  
"You look lost." His dry voice held a hint of humor as he surveyed her   
startled expression through the opened driver's side window. "Gas station,"   
he added, seeing the question in his companion's eyes.  
  
Of course. That smell...gas fumes. "We're out of gas?"  
  
He grinned, unnecessarily amused by her question. It was a rare day one   
was allowed to see Sara Sidle sleepy. "Not anymore."  
  
"Where are we?" The black and red Texaco sign gave price information but   
not location; she noted absently that the most expensive gas was sixty cents   
cheaper than the cheapest she'd seen in San Francisco.  
  
A shrug. "Some little town in the middle of nowhere. We're still in   
California."  
  
One wry smile. "We're never getting out of this state, Grissom." She shrugged.  
"Well, maybe the state's never getting out of us."  
  
"The state or the case?"  
  
  
  
The road was still hypnotic, the air still boiling outside the vehicle. There  
was still more livestock than people, and country music still cut through the  
static when he turned the radio on for an instant. Speed limit was up to   
seventy five on the interstate, and she was awake.  
  
Barely.  
  
"Why'd you follow me to the beach yesterday?"  
  
The last time he'd looked at her, her eyes had been closed tight, head leaning  
against the window. And while her eyelids flickered open once in a while,   
he'd assumed she'd gone back to sleep. "I don't know."  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
He sighed. "I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want you to be alone."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"And I thought it would help me." It wasn't something he would ever say, too   
personal to his own ears, and he wasn't sure what to do with it now that it was  
trapped in the car.  
  
"Did it?"  
  
"You did." His eyes never left the road, but he was sure she had the same  
dumbfounded expression she'd worn after he'd told her the truth about his   
first impression of her all those years again. Yes, there it was. "What?"  
  
"Why do you say stuff like that?"  
  
"Does it bother you when I do?"  
  
"No, I just..." She fell silent, listening to the hum of the air conditioning.   
"I don't get you, Grissom."  
  
The road, like a lullaby. The air, thick and heavy like the center of hell.  
The scenery, bland and monochromatic. No cows, no country, no work crews,  
no rest. Peaceful, this going-home journey, this company, this state. Everything   
he wanted.  
  
"Good." 


End file.
